Bride of Dolohov
by DZAuthor AKA DZMom
Summary: Antonin Dolohov, Death Eater, was obliviated and humiliated because Potter got away. Hannah Abbott was disowned by her family because of wizard war politics. Manipulator!Phoenix!Snape. Unspeakable!father of Hannah. Gothic-style romance. Alchemical allegory: the must virgin tame the black dragon. Contains vulgar language, situations & imagery suitable for mature readers.
1. Chapter 1

_**December 5, 2011**  
><em>Updated March 8, 2012

_The idea for this story simply will not go away. _

_I originally posted this story in a very clipped writing style as Run Rabbit Run, but it received no reviews after 5-6 chapters. I never expect more than a few reviews for my writing, but I had attemped to write characters who think differently than I do. That version left them rather bare-bones and boring. I aim to improve my writing skills and expand my repertoire by exploring this scenario. _

_A middle-aged Dolohov is inspired by Arben Bajraktaraj's appearance and portrayal of the character in the movies. Hannah's character is largely a product of my imagination, as I do not find many charming or inspiring images of her in the films or in the books. _

_Canon compliant up to Deathly Hallows, except for backstory on Hannah that I took the liberty of creating. This a Gothic romance (horror) and I've subsequently decided to write the plot as an alchemical allegory. _(March 2012)

_I do intend to continue my major HP fic _Salubrious Snape Oil_. _

**_Warning_**_: Horror indicates revolting topics. Vulgarity ensues. Sexually explicit content will follow. This chapter contains some mild sexual content of a non-consensual nature._

**_Disclaimer_**_: This is fan-written fiction._

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><p><strong>Chapter One: <strong>_**Prologue**_

_**Tottenham Court Road  
>1st of August, 1997<strong>_

Antonin Dolohov wrinkled his nose in disgust. His bushy mustache pressed against his nostrils, but he still smelled shit. Human shit. _Scared_ _shit_.

He tried to turn his head away from the stench but his neck was held in place by magic, his head bolted in position.

He cursed in his mind. He was in a fucking full-body bind. A seasoned Death Eater never let down his guard. It was impossible.

He willed his muscles to move, but the most he achieved was a shudder that felt like claws ripping through his neck muscles. Damn it. He could not stomach the reek of feces any longer. It smelled of fear, adrenaline, fire whiskey and lust.

Dolohov strained against the manacles holding him immobile. He managed to tilt his head and he felt the warmth of rough fabric catching on the stubble of his chin. A bulge began to harden along his jaw. He tilted his face once more, trying to get a feel for what emanated the putrid excrement.

Then he heard Rowle's raspy voice mumbling, "Damn you, Bitch! Don't bind me up and then tease me. Take me in your mouth, Woman."

Dolohov realized his face was laying on Thorfin Rowle's crotch. He vomited up half-digested chicken curry pasta salad. It gushed from his throat and covered the blue jeans of the other Death Eater. Hot stabs seared inside Dolohov's neck as he strained to keep his nose above his regurgitated lunch.

Rowle screamed bloody murder at his imagined slut. Dolohov seethed, still unable to speak.

A glass door exploded, sending shards of glass flying across Dolohov's face, crisscrossing it with slices. Bellatrix Lestrange's voice shouted in her nasally whine, "Where's fucking Harry Potter?"

The body bind fell away from Dolohov and he stumbled to his feet. He wiped blood from his face with a plaid shirt sleeve and grimaced at the biting pain of each cut. He got his bearings and looked around at the metal counter and tables inside the Muggle delicatessen. A terrified Muggle woman was dragged by her ponytail and stumbled behind Rodolphus Lestrange.

Macnair had Rowle by the neck and turned to watch the groveling woman. He growled at her, "What did you see?" Getting no response, he kicked her knee and shouted, "Speak up!"

She clutched her leg and whimpered. "Nuh-nothing," she spluttered. "Just some kids. They tied me to the safe in the back room and tuh-told me to keep quiet until you come to rescue me."

From behind Dolohov, the voice of Yaxley chortled as he jabbed his wand into Dolohov's spine. "Rescue you?" he taunted. "So we've come to rescue her, have we, Boys?"

Bellatrix cackled. "Poor wittle Muggle. I'll save you from a pathetic excuse for being alive." She pointed her wand at the shop girl's confused face.

"Leave her," Dolohov croaked.

Yaxley twisted the wand against Dolohov's back. "What's this? Taking a fancy in girls half your age, is that it?"

Rabastan smirked and hiked up the girl's shirt. He plunged his hand into her blue lacy bra and squeezed until she screamed in pain. He flicked a silencing charm over her and winked at Dolohov. "She's pert. And she has a big mouth which could be put to much better use than screaming. You want to feel her?"

Dolohov spit. The white foam landed on the girl's forehead.

"Now, now," Rabastan chastised him. "Don't you know how to properly seduce a Muggle?" He gently wiped the spittle off her face with the sleeve of his cloak and lifted her up by her arms. Her legs trembled as he wrapped a hand across her bare stomach.

"Be a good girl and shut your pretty lips," he murmured as he lifted the silencing charm. Gently massaging her other breast, he coaxed, "Now tell us the truth and I won't hurt you. What really happened?"

A tear dripped down her face. "I told you already."

Rowle spoke up. "Just fuck her and kill her, Rab. She wasn't even here."

At this the deli girl sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Yes I was," she said with indignation. "Don't make me into a liar."

Rabastan purred into her ear, "No one's calling you a liar. Nice and slow. Just start from the beginning."

She jutted out her chin. "These two ugly blokes come up to the counter." She paused while the Death Eaters had their laugh at Dolohov and Rowle. " So I asks them what they want, and they tell me to leave 'em be. I saw 'em lookin' sideways at three kids that were dressed in some weird shit robes. They was just two guys and a girl, y'know, just drinking coffee, whispering and minding their own business. So I went to the back to wash some plates, when I hear a bunch of loud crashes an' shit. I saw some bright flashes of light and that big bloke went flying into the wall, with the scruffy guy next. Next thing I know, the chick makes some ropes fly out of her bad-ass stick and she tied me up and tol' me to be quiet until help comes."

"Traitors!" Bellatrix screeched. "You let Potter escape with his little Mudblood too."

MacNair snarled at Rowle, "You were bested by Potter and his schoolyard playmates? You're bloody idiots, the both of you! We left the Weasley wedding after you spotted him and let Dumbledore's followers get away because of you. And you call us here to show how you play house with your _darling_ _Antonin_."

A whish of dark cloth spun in the room and settled into the form of Severus Snape. He lunged for Dolohov. "Where is he?"

"Last time I checked it was the duty of the Headmaster to account for students who have yet to matriculate," Dolohov answered with scorn.

Snape flicked his wand.

Dolohov felt his guts writhe like snakes. He gasped, "How dare you?"

The menacing wizard lifted the hex. "Let's do this one more time, shall we? The Dark Lord wants Potter. Where is he?"

Rowle choked words past Macnair's strangling hand. "He was never here. The bitch is lying. Fucking lay off my bloody throat, you old geezer."

Dolohov pitched a nervous glance at Rowle. The man had terror on his face as it turned purple and his eyes bugged out. Then Dolohov's attention was capture by the angry blonde Muggle.

"I didn't lie," she muttered.

Snape looked over at her. "What's with the bimbo?"

Rabastan smiled and said, "Just a little dessert." He shoved the girl toward the back of the store and called back with a smirk, "You all go on and leave. I'll clean up."

The moment was interrupted by Snape poking his wand in Dolohov's face. "The Dark Lord will require a thorough explanation of your failure. Tell me where Potter is and I will mediate leniency for you."

Dolohov sneered. "Rowle said it. Potter was never here."

Macnair groused, "He said the Name, and one of you idiots summoned us after you got a visual on Potter."

Rowle thrashed out of his captor's grip. "You fucking set us up. That's what's going on. You can't stand that you're from the old fucking regime and that our Lord wants us younger, healthier wizards to do his work." He made a dash for the door of the café. Bellatrix seized him and disapparated them both.

Yaxley cleared his throat. His wand was still pressing into Dolohov's spine. "Going to run, Little Rabbit?"

The remaining Death Eaters leered at Dolohov, and he glared back as he whispered, "He was never here. I swear to it."

The cold voice of Snape chilled the bones. "The Dark Lord will see through your lies."


	2. Chapter 2

**January 30, 2012**

_**Author Note:**__ I've taken creative license with the events in Deathly Hallows, as you'll discover in this chapter. For simple convenience I created an OC who is Blaise Zabini's younger sister or cousin, sharing his surname, but she's not in Slytherin despite being pure-blooded._

_I finally bought the HP book series. Yes, that's right, I've only read or listened on tape to the local library's copies. I splurged and got the Bloomsbury "signature series" instead of the domestic Scholastic Americanized version._

_Why is that important to share? I'll be able to continue writing Salubrious Snape Oil, now that I can check facts. Plus, my second read-through is giving me more inspiration to write fan fiction._

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><p><em>Updated March 8, 2012<em>

**Chapter Two**

_**Railway Between King's Cross and Hogwarts  
>September 1, 1997<strong>_

Antonin Dolohov apparated aboard the Hogwarts Express. The oldest students were leaning out of their compartment doors and gawking at the Death Eaters invading their train. A dark-skinned girl with a head full of bright-yellow-beaded braids stood in front of the entrance to the next train car, shielding schoolchildren peeking out from behind her black Prefect robe. She pointed a shaking wand arm, taking aim at various opponents with jerky motions.

Lucius Malfoy removed his Death Eater mask and dropped his hood to reveal his straggly, nearly white, yet still blond hair. The girl stared at him and lowered her wand arm in distraction.

"Little Zoe Zabini made Prefect," Malfoy soothed, and he grasped her chin in his snakeskin gloves. Turning her face to appraise both sides, he began, "One can't help but admire your family's regal features. Such a waste," he admonished, dropping her chin, "disgracing your family as a squirrelly Hufflepuff. And you haven't the sense to choose the winning side."

"A bit early to declare winners," she replied, gripping her wand so tightly that her knuckles lightened to a pale shade of tan.

Malfoy sneered when he disarmed her with a silent spell and pushed her aside.

"Back into your compartments!" she ordered as she slipped to the floor. Young students quickly crammed themselves behind latched doors, leaving her defenseless.

"Hello, Father," the drawling, deepened voice of Draco Malfoy rose above the clamor. He stood at the opposite end of the car, a false look of indifference plastered over his dark-circled eyes and ashen face. "We've searched the train. He's too scared to show his face now that Snape's superseded Dumbledore as Headmaster."

Behind Draco, the Crabbe and Goyle boys smirked stupidly.

"You're Headboy!" the younger Zabini protested as she got back to her feet. "You're supposed to keep _all_ students safe."

"Go to the Prefect compartments, Zabini. I've got this."

"I'm not going to –"

"Get the fuck out of here!" Draco shouted at her, drawing his wand.

She clamped her mouth shut as a rose color filled her face. She gave a hesitant look and then stormed through the crowd of Death Eaters to return to the front of the train.

From behind Dolohov, the stringent voice of Bellatrix reprimanded, "Don't just stand there like stupid oafs. Search the train again."

Draco's jaw clenched and a pink tinge showed on his face. "Unless he's using his invisibility cloak, you won't –"

The senior Malfoy stormed toward Draco. "Don't interfere. You've helped the Dark Lord enough."

Yaxley patted Draco's arm as the servants of Lord Voldemort filed past the sons of their compatriots.

Dolohov yanked open compartment doors and cast silent _Homenum Revelio _spells. He incapacitated the fools who tried to resist him and ignored the wailing cries of girls dealing with the aftermath.

At the back of the train, Bellatrix Lestrange cackled gleefully. "The little Weasley girl's in here. Potter can't be far."

Antonin strode through the group of Slytherin students dawdling in the corridor. He reached the compartment and watched Bellatrix point her wand at the throat of a gangly boy standing near the window seat. Rodolphus had his fist tangled in flowing blond hair belonging to a wispy girl with a mild, vacant expression. Malfoy deflected curses sent by a fiery red-headed girl and pushed her against the train car seat, forcing her down as he towered over her. That left Antonin to face the other blonde girl, who was standing in the corner and already had her wand pointing at his chest.

He saw a glint of determination in her eyes. She glanced at each of her defeated friends. Antonin took off his mask to show her his confident smirk. He gazed into her eyes and heard her thoughts berating herself. She'd never cast a curse in her life, at least not in a real duel. She was trying to persuade herself that she wasn't scared shitless facing a dark wizard.

"Don't touch _her_, you – you – you _toad!" _Bella's captive shouted at Dolohov, earning a "_Crucio!_" from the madwoman.

"No!" the red-head sobbed. "Leave Neville alone!"

Rudolphus grunted like a man holding back his moans of pleasure. "Bella, make him scream like Alice did."

The girl in front of Antonin pointed her wand at Bellatrix and shouted, "Expellia—"

Antonin silenced her and blocked the charm before he disarmed her and grabbed her oak wand as it flew to him. Her jaw slackened and she stared at Antonin with terrified eyes, the whites far out of proportion to her colored irises. He seized her arm, dragged her in front of him, and held her against his body with one arm while his wand threatened her head.

"No sudden moves," he murmured into her ear. The ends of her ponytail tickled his neck when she startled nervously. He pulled her closer as she began to hyperventilate.

"Give us Potter and I'll let you go," he whispered in her ear, causing her to shudder.

Her lips trembled as she looked at him with no hope in her wide eyes. "He's not here," she mouthed, still under his silencing spell.

Dolohov yanked her hair back and held her neck in place as he searched her doe brown eyes. _He's going to kill me. Just like they killed Mum. Kill me and rape me and chop off my arms and legs and then tie me to the train rails to squeeze out every last drop of my blood. _

Antonin grinned at her, impressed with her vile imagination.

_And no one will give a shit. No one cares what happens to an Abbott. No one cares what happens to the daughter of an Unspeakable. _

Unaware of himself, he caressed her neck with his thumb. Her racing pulse drummed on his fingers as a clammy sweat took hold of her.

"Breathe," he spoke, his beard brushing on her cheek. With a gentle tap of his wand, he placed a calming spell on her forehead. She leaned into the hand on her neck and pleaded with her eyes, _Just let him do it quick and painless. The cadaver curse Professor Moody showed us – or whatever his name was –_ Avada _Something-Something._

Snape busted open the door of the compartment. "We have quite the convention here," he muttered dryly. With a flick of his wand, he resized the compartment with an extension charm and entered, followed by the Carrow twins. "Well done, Bella. Indeed, you've found the nest of vipers, the closest friends of Potter. But he himself is not on the train."

The girl leaning on Antonin's arm shook her head violently. _I'll lie. I'll say I never knew Harry. They don't know I was in Dumbledore's Army, do they?_

His arm gathered her shoulders to his chest. He'd seen enough of her thoughts. He couldn't shake the feeling that he would regret having to kill her if it came to that.

Snape lectured the Carrows: "Take note of each face. These are close friends of Potter. He will return to Hogwarts for them – bleeding heart that he is. Do not harm them beyond reason. The Dark Lord wants his bait to be alive."

He pivoted to stare at the red-head who raised her eyes in defiance. "Where is your boyfriend, Miss Weasley?"

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"_Imperius_," he said coldly. The red-head relaxed and smiled dreamily at the menacing Headmaster.

Antonin's captive twisted and tried to go to the Weasley girl, but he held her back.

Snape signaled Malfoy to let Ginny go. The blonde wizard smirked at the girl's guileless face looking at her professor with … _longing_?

"Stand up. Tell me where your boyfriend is," the headmaster commanded.

She immediately slid off the seat and stood at attention. "I don't have a boyfriend, because Harry broke up with me before he went on Dumbledore's last mission."

Malfoy fingered the girl's long red hair. "Looks like Potter inherited his father's fancy for red heads," he drawled. "Tell me, Weasley, did you know that Lily Potter had hair just like yours?"

"No."

"Enough!" Snape growled. Dolohov felt a pulse of magic leave Snape, but Malfoy did not flinch. The Weasley girl had a confused grin on her face.

"What mission was that, Miss Weasley?"

"He wouldn't tell me. Harry said it was secret and that he alone could accomplish it."

"Arrogant little prat, just like his father."

The Death Eaters chuckled at Snape's remark.

"What's your excuse for why your ignoramus brother is not on the train?" Snape continued his interrogation.

"He's at home with Splattergroit. My family's already owled you about his dangerous and contagious condition." Her eyes flicked to Malfoy. "I only hope Ron didn't contaminate me with it. Those disgusting purple blotches cause permanent scars."

Malfoy shrank back from her in disgust. Snape gave a nod. "Should your brother recover, he'll be expected to report to school immediately. But your family is well informed of this fact."

He flicked his wand and uttered, "_Finite incantatem_."

The Weasley girl glared at him with pure hatred.

He turned away from her caustic eyes and faced Neville Longbottom. "The child born on July thirtieth," he said with a sneer.

Bellatrix cackled with delight. "He looks right like his father Frank, don't he?"

Snape gave a thoughtful nod. "It's remarkable that Potter's become friends with the only other boy who could have fulfilled the prophecy. Now, Bella, we both know that Potter won't bother to return to Hogwarts if his friend here becomes the equivalent of an empty-headed gourd. Leave the Cruciatus curse to the Carrows. They can be trusted to apply a more delicate touch. Isn't that so, Amycus?"

The pudgy man frowned in disappointment. His sister answered for him. "We'll punish the students with what they deserve, Headmaster."

Bella whined in frustration.

Snape gave her a patronizing stare. "Have you forgotten that Neville Longbottom is a pureblood, Bella? Perhaps he simply found himself putting his trust in a lost cause. But if my suspicions are correct, he'll lead Potter right to us.

The blond waif held by Rodolphus spoke up in a dreamy voice. "Harry's always with us in spirit."

Lestrange cursed her, causing burning sores to fill her mouth. Antonin watched Snape's eyes flicker in fury. "Haven't you listened to a word? Potter won't come back for damaged goods." Antonin noted that the puppet headmaster seemed to relish his role as the top authority over both his students and his cohorts.

"Now then, Alecto, you and Amycus must humor this boy's pathetic attempts to sneak around the castle. The Boy Who Lived is sure to turn up and make a grotesque attempt at rescuing him sooner or later. Save your ruthless spite for then and keep your grace in the eyes of our master.

"As for you, Miss Abbott," Snape continued, turning to the girl held by Antonin, "you've had the good sense to return to Hogwarts; however, I am sorry to inform you that there are certain issues that must be addressed regarding your tuition."

"But—" she began. Snape cut her off with a silencing charm.

Antonin carefully watched Snape's face. Too late, he realized he'd opened himself to the man's skillful Legilmency. Snape had already seen who Dolohov's captive resembled, many years ago.

The Headmaster frowned. "Miss Abbott, you will be taken by Mr. Dolohov directly to the Hog's Head Inn. I'll be there within the hour to settle your arrangements prior to the opening feast."

Rodolphus drooled over the thought of taking his aloof blond girl to the rat-infested inn. Antonin sneered at him in disgust. At least, he thought to himself, Lestrange was too much a fool to realize what Snape had already seen. Hannah Abbott looked quite like Antonin's deceased fiancée Aliz, who had died defending Voldemort in the first Wizard War.


	3. Chapter 3

**February 1, 2012**

_**Author Note:** I spent far too much time on the last chapter. Writing this story was just meant to be a quick diversion to get the plot bunny out of my head._

_I have noted hits on the story, but without any faves, follows or reviews, I cannot tell if anyone is actually planning on reading this story. Such a shame, given the amount of time I've plotted the ideas for it._

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><p><em>Updated March 8, 2012<em>

**Chapter Three**

Antonin held Miss Abbott snugly against him and asked her in a quiet voice, "Are you ready?"

She nodded her head slightly and gulped back her fright.

He gave a final glance to Snape, but the man had his back to him, conferring with the disgruntled Carrow twins. Lucius was still keeping his distance from the defiant Weasley girl, training his wand on her. Rodolphus was grinding against the ass of his blonde, groping inside her robe. The girl's faraway expression reminded him of the unconventional Quibbler publisher, Lovegood, and he realized that she was the man's daughter. Bella was sneering at her husband's ecstasy with venomous hatred, while her own captive seethed at the display in helpless anger.

Antonin focused his mind on the alley behind the Hog's Head and teleported there. The girl jolted forward as they touched on solid ground, but he steadied her with his wand hand and murmured, "I've got you now."

Her face took on a pallid shade of green and he saw her convulse as her cheeks filled. She bent over reflexively and spewed on the dusty ground, the only sound being the stomach fluids splattering on the ground.

_Aliz had been sick for several weeks. Antonin had been disgusted with the daily vomiting until the morning he realized that she hadn't complained about her female bleeding for quite some time. It was his child inside the woman that caused her to be sick every morning!_

He drew back a loose strand of the Abbott girl's hair that had escaped her ponytail, and he helped her stand up straight. A warm towel conjured at the tip of his wand was in his hand to wipe the vomit off her chin. Next he scourgified her clothes and trainers, straightening her robe so it hung just right.

She stared at him in silence, her mouth open until she saw him watching her expression. He disappeared the wet cloth and caressed her cheek with his knuckle. "It'll take time to get used to side-along apparation," he assured her.

Her face turned crimson and she looked away.

"Snape silenced you," he said, as he realized why she hadn't tried to speak. He put his arm around the back of her shoulders and led her to the front of the building. He opened the door and with a flourish gestured for her to enter the darkened pub. The smell of fire whiskey and beer assaulted them. He grinned as she wrinkled her nose up.

He followed her inside, keeping a steadying hand on her shoulder. When the closed the door behind them, they looked around the shadowy pub, adjusting their eyes to the dim lighting.

Yaxley and Macnair were standing at the bar, while Crabbe and Goyle were hunched at a table. A few other Death Eaters loitered in the room, taking note of the girl that their comrade had pulled to his side.

"Celebrating already, Dolohov?" Yaxley rebuked. "You're taking a bit too much liberty, considering your disgrace in the eyes of our lord."

Antonin let his hand fall to the small of the girl's back as he guided her forward. He growled through his clenched jaw. "Perhaps you should ask Snape how he tends his students at Hogwarts. She's here for him."

A young Death Eater turned to look the girl up and down, licking his lips in appreciation. The older men snickered and someone muttered, "I knew Snape had those little bitches on their knees. No one could go that long without a fuck."

The girl froze, refusing to move forward. Antonin wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her to the bar.

The gray-haired proprietor in worn-out robes that matched his demeanor came out and scowled at the sight of the girl. "What's she doing here?"

"You know her?" Antonin asked in surprise.

He saw the girl mouthing a "no" and shaking her head to discourage the barkeep.

"Seen her around."

"Snape wants her here." Antonin watched the old man's face for a reaction.

The lecherous men listening in laughed and made disgusting comments about the headmaster's new privileges in disciplining students.

"Does he, now?"

"Just give me a room," Antonin said quietly.

"You know the bed is never locked up by me."

"A proper room," Antonin seethed. "Does she look like a common prostitute?"

"Hmmph." The wizened man was clearly reluctant to hand over a magic key. "You payin'?"

Antonin snatched the key. "Don't get too greedy, old man. Or have you so quickly forgotten who lets you stay in business?"

The girl gave a pleading look to the face framed by long gray hair before Antonin guided her up the rickety stairs into a dark corridor. She shivered and clutched his wrist, digging her nails into his skin.

He opened the door and flicked his wand to light the torches in the room and start a fire in the grate. Extricating his arm from her desperate clutch, he guided her to a chair next to a weathered table and he helped her sit down.

A very ugly elf popped into the room and bowed low, not looking at the patrons.

"Hot tea and biscuits for the lady," Antonin commanded. "And vodka. Bring the bottle."

The requested items appeared on the table. Antonin grabbed the bottle, flicked his wand to open it, and took a look swig. "Aaahhh," he concluded, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his robe. Looking to the girl, he admonished, "Eat up before your headmaster gets here."

She stared at him with an angry expression.

"Or not," he chuckled. "You're quite enchanting when you're angry, you know."

He admired the red blush that inflamed her face. "Make yourself comfortable. It could be a while."

He propped himself on the bed, not bothering to kick off his boots, and took another swig of the pristine spirits. Out of his pocket he pulled a pack of cigars and lit one. After puffing on it, he offered the pack to the girl. She refused with a look of revolt and a frown as she waved away the thick smoke lingering in the air.

He snickered at her expression. Then he said with sincerity, "I'll put it out if it bothers you."

Her eyes widened.

Antonin quickly snubbed out the cigar on the battered old nightstand and flicked his wand to clear the air. "There. Now take some tea. If you want something else, well – tea is good for you. And the biscuits will settle your stomach."

With a trembling hand, she took a bite of biscuit and washed it down with the steaming tea. When she pushed the plate away and put her head down on table to rest, Antonin hovered the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. She looked up with a grateful smile before resting her head on her arms and closing her eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**January 3, 2012  
><em>Author Note: <em>**_Sexual content, but not between Antonin and Hannah. _

_Must I beg you, Dear Reader? Please review._

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><p><em>Updated March 8, 2012<em>

**Chapter Four  
><strong>

_**Hog's Head Inn, Hogsmeade, Scotland  
>1st of September, 1997<br>**_

Antonin swigged the vodka, wondering if it was more water than spirits. Considering the frugality of the Hog's Head, he convinced himself the drink was cut at least by half.

He watched the Abbott girl's shoulders heave in resignation as she rested at the table. Her face was hidden in her arms and her ponytail was askew. He itched to pull off the tortoise shell barrette and fix it properly, but satisfied himself with more drink instead. He'd polished off a quarter of the bottle and it hadn't even been an hour yet.

The girl's smile reminded him of Aliz. Damn it. Everything about her reminded him of the woman he had loved. But Aliz was shorter than than girl. And her smile was genuine when she looked at him. Not frightened. Aliz had never smiled out of obligation.

He rested his head against the headboard, not minding the abandoned cobwebs and dust-filled intricate carvings. The vodka went to the nightstand. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the Abbott girl from his thoughts.

_Aliz was sleeping on his bed, curled up in his blanket. He lay down gingerly, trying not to stir the box springs, trying not to wake her up. Her sleepy eyes looked up into his face when he rolled around to hold her._

"_Did I fall 'sleep?" she mumbled._

"_Shh. Close your eyes." He draped his arm over her hips._

_She rubbed her cheeks and yawned. "Sorry, An."_

"_For what?" He nuzzled her forehead._

"_I'm not supposed to be sleeping. What would the Dark Lord say if he knew I was napping while we're fighting a war?"_

"_He'd congratulate us," Antonin whispered into her ear._

"_No, he would not!" she protested, pushing him away. "Don't be daft."_

"_Why not? He should congratulate us." He slipped his arm under the furnace of blankets, sighing contentedly as he managed to caress the bare skin of her stomach._

"_Are you – where did we first kiss?" she asked, anger and fierce rage in her eyes._

"_It's really me," he soothed. "I've been a bit of an arse lately."_

"_I will strangle you with my bare hands if you don't get out of Dolohov's bed this instant!"_

_Antonin grinned at her. "I'll have the best orgasm ever, Aliz. Do it." He chuckled, laying back on the bed, spreading his arms at his side. "And before I die, kiss me the way you did in the hold of the Durmstrang Goddess. Shake the bed a bit to remind me of the waves sloshing that damn boat around while I tried to prick you with my virgin cock. I was so embarrassed, you know, having my first time with an 'experienced' woman." He laughed quietly. "Oh, look. Now you've gone and made me hard just thinking about that night."_

_Aliz crushed his chest in her embrace. "I thought …" she faltered. "I thought you'd been ... compromised." She buried her face in his robe and clutched his arm. He could barely hear her muffled voice promise, "I'd never kill you, An. I couldn't even kill your imposter. You're too beautiful."_

_He beamed at her words and slipped his hands around her, laying her back on the bed. With fast fingers he had her robe open and his lips covered her tummy in kisses._

"_Would you just look at that belly button," he admired before he rolled his tongue around the "outty" nub._

_She giggled. "Your beard tickles."_

_He fingered her panties. "Looks like we'll be needing to get you some new skivvies soon, Cap'n."_

_She brushed his hand away and covered her abdomen defensively. "I'm not getting fat."_

"_Who said you're getting fat?" He pried her hands away and tugged the beige panties down until he could see her curly hair peeking out. He crawled over her and eased open her legs so that he could press his nose into the moist cloth and sniff deeply. "You have the most exotic scent," he breathed._

"_What's gotten into you? It's been weeks since you even looked at me, Antonin."_

_He pulled her underwear down and she wriggled while he trailed kisses down her legs, following the cast off undergarment. Bringing his lips back to her stomach, he brushed her skin with kisses. "You're my son's mother. I love you."_

"_I love you, too," she sighed, burying her fingers into his tangles of hair. Then she froze. She sat up and pulled his chin to look up at her. "What did you just say?"_

_He kissed her lips, gently easing her back against the mattress again. Hovering over her, he gazed into her aqua blue eyes for an eternity before he confessed, "I've been stupid before, I know. But this time I was a damned fool. I hated seeing you get sick, and then I got angry when it didn't stop after that first week."_

_She closed her eyes. "I've been trying to hide it."_

_He saw an anxious ripple on her forehead. "I want my son, Aliz," he insisted._

"_What if she's a girl?"_

"_Is he a girl?"_

"_I don't know! But why does she have to be a son?"_

_He chuckled, kissing her neck. "The Dolohov family will have an heir." It was a proclamation._

"_You could have your pick of the witches. Any one of them would give you a son."_

"_What does that have to do with anything? You are the mother of my children."_

"_Oh, it's _children_ now? You expect me_ _to do this more than once?" Her voice had the happy lilt that calmed Antonin. The joy that made him need her after he hated himself for torturing the Dark Lord's victims._

_He opened his robe with one hand, giving his free-styling cock freedom to push against her inviting depths._

"_Wait!" _

_He looked into her eyes._

_She blushed. "The healer said I have to keep it clean before and after … you know, to prevent … problems."_

_He stood up with a rush, the back of his hand pressed against his forehead in distress. "Right. We can't do that anymore."_

"_No," she said in a giggle. "I just need to wash down there with plain water. And the healer said you have to, too. Otherwise, it's still not clean enough."_

_Antonin pulled his wand from his robe's sheath and hastily produced a rag with a non-verbal spell. Then his wand sprayed cold water in all directions._

"_Got a little problem holding back, Fella?" Aliz teased with a smirk._

_Antonin blushed deeply. "I need practice. That's all."_

"_Go on then. Wash yourself off and then give me one of them wet towels. A _clean_ one."_

_He pulled back the foreskin and rubbed the head of his cock with the cold towel. Then he threw it on his desk and closed his eyes, concentrating on the tip of his wand. He held out his hand and caught a warm, wet towel._

_He saw the admiring look on his lover's face. Throwing off his wet robe and dropping his wand, he kneeled on the bed and spread Aliz' legs, carefully wiping her with his towel._

"_Top to bottom," she instructed._

_He shrugged and complied. Then he wiped his fingers too before tossing away the cloth and exploring her heat._

"_Come," she begged, pulling on his shoulders._

_He grinned at her pleading face and lowered himself into her, still fumbling a bit, but not caring because Aliz wanted _him_ inside her. He was gentle, and she groaned as though she'd been in need for a long time._

_He held himself over her, not letting himself press against her stomach._

"_I won't break," she sighed in frustration, tilting her pelvis up to him._

_His arms lowered down, his hands above her shoulders. Before he fucked her silly, he had a promise to make._

Hannah Abbott had to piss. Like a Thestral. It was _that_ bad.

The Death Eater had dozed off, his head lolling to the side. She couldn't very well call for a house elf, given that she was still silenced.

There was nothing for it. She stood up, squeezing back her pee, and went to the bed. She poked his shoulder. Not getting any response, she shook his shoulder this time.

His hand grasped her fingers and brought it to his mouth. "Marry me. I swear on the Name, I will provide for you and our children." Then he kissed her fingers so tenderly that it made Hannah gasp. He squeezed her fingers gently. "If you'll have me. Say you'll be my wife."

Hannah pulled her hand from his lips. He opened his eyes and stared at Aliz – no, it was just the Abbott girl. And she was turning beet red, her eyes looking anywhere but at him.

He pulled himself to sit up straight, and grabbed her shoulders. "What did you hear me say?" he demanded, shaking her, making her look straight into his eyes.

The door of the room burst open and a livid headmaster stormed into the room. Snape pulled the girl away from Antonin, placing her behind him. With his wand drawn, he yelled, "What the hell is going on?"


	5. Chapter 5

**March 16, 2012**

_**Author's Note:**__ Big thank you to _AdrienneGracify _for Beta reading this chapter. She has a Dolohov fic in progress: "Muggle Missing."_

_**Previous Chapter**_

_The door of the room burst open and a livid headmaster stormed into the room. Snape pulled the girl away from Antonin, placing her behind him. With his wand drawn, he yelled, "What the hell is going on?"_

**Chapter 5**

Antonin let go of Hannah's shoulder and withdrew his wand the moment he heard the crash of Snape rushing through the door of the private room at the Hog's Head Inn.

Snape swung the girl behind him, taking a broad protective stance as he extended his wand. Antonin made a parry, leaving both wizards standing _en garde_, nostrils flaring.

The headmaster narrowed his eyes. "What business did you have bringing Ms. Abbott to a room?"

Antonin leered at Severus, taking notice of how the younger man shook lanky black threads of hair out of his eyes. "Tired of chasing Dumbledore's robes and being a milksop, Snape?" His eyes flitted to the girl's hand tugging at her professor's shoulder. When Snape ignored the girl, as if it was a normal occurrence for a pretty, young thing to be touching him, Antonin felt his anger boil up through his stomach. "Is it your most fortuitous rise to power that's gotten you randy for playing a bit with a strumpet?"

Snape lifted his chin even higher. "Do I detect jealousy, Dolohov?"

Antonin sneered at the young headmaster, but he caught the look of mortification on the Abbott girl's face as she backed away from Snape. Antonin watched her face wrench into disgust as he made his next verbal stab at Snape: "Young Marcus Flint has been ashamed of your lack of, shall we say, abilities, since the incident with Madam Bulstrode's daughter."

Snape shifted uncomfortably. "You are out of place. I won't discuss such matters, as I do not intend to further embarrass Miss Millicent Bulstrode."

Dolohov snorted in derision. "The Lord's darling, 'Bullie Millie,' has hardly kept the matter quiet. It is well known that you rejected her proposal to deal with her failing marks in Defense. She was willing to serve detentions on her knees in your private quarters, but you rejected the offer."

"Shut it!" came out as a snarl from Snape's narrowed lips.

Idly gesturing to Miss Abbott, Antonin continued, "Your hussy will be glad to know you have standards. Bullie Millie is not fit to be taken as your whore, now that you've ascended to our Lord's right hand." Antonin noticed the pallor of helpless terror taking over the girl's face.

"A word, Snape," he continued, leaning in as if to speak privately. "Instead of accusing me of being dishonorable, you should thank me for protecting her from the men downstairs."

Turning his full attention to Hannah, Antonin forced a teasing smile onto his face. "She remembers Flint drooling at the sight of her. Don't you, young _Czarevna_?"

Hannah's face screwed up with reddened rage. The candles flickered and the fireplace was engulfed in flame for a moment before all fire in the room was damped. A pale trickle of sepia light filtered through the smoke-covered windows.

Dolohov looked accusingly at Snape, who in turn looked at Hannah. "Impressive, Miss Abbott," the professor said. "It would seem that you have mastered silent, wandless magic."

She wrenched her eyes from Snape's and stomped toward Dolohov. "I don't know what _Czarev_-whatever means, but I've had it with your insults. Do not ever call me a hussy again." Hannah spoke in measured, precise words. Her tone darkened as her voice grew in intensity. "And seriously? You called me a strumpet!"

Dolohov jerked his head in surprise before deadening his face of all emotions. "_Czarevna _is my mother tongue. The wife of the – how shall I put it – crown prince. And 'hussy' – it only means housewi—"

"Enough! I've been humiliated, silenced, disarmed, and reduced to nearly pinching myself so I don't piss my knickers."

Snape merely raised his eyebrows at Hannah and glanced at Antonin for explanation. He in turn eyed the headmaster with bewilderment.

She stamped her foot and then danced on her two feet, holding in her piss. "Fuck's sake! If you won't give me back my wand, at least call the elf."

A disgruntled creature appeared with a pop.

"Haven't you a privy attached to this room?" she demanded.

The hunchbacked female elf pointed her gnarled finger at the wall and a sliding door appeared. Shaking her head at the idiocy of the hotel patron, the old elf cracked away again.

Hannah lost no time to scurry into the loo, slamming the door until the lock clicked.

Dolohov glared at Snape. "You taught wandless magic to your Defense Against the Dark Arts students. What were you thinking?"

"Don't be daft." Snape replaced his wand into his arm sheath hidden under his robe. "It's nearly impossible to teach such skills. In addition, Miss Abbott was not under my tutelage last year. She left Hogwarts after her mother's death. The lifeless body was found in her home, the Morsmordre dark mark hovering in the sky above."

"Then she is powerful." Dolohov grinned, showing brown stains on his teeth. "We should persuade her to leave behind Potter's amateur band of followers and so join our Lord's calling."

Snape stared at him. "We killed her mother. She'd be delighted to join our ranks."

Antonin cocked his head at Snape, trying to sort what the man had just said. When he realized he'd been mocked, Dolohov squared his shoulders and allowed a glint of hatred to flee from his eyes. Rummaging in his cloak, he pulled out the girl's wand and handed it over to the headmaster without a word, but with plenty of hateful vibrations coursing through the air.

"Why was she silenced?" Snape asked out of curiosity, twirling the girl's wand through his fingers with practiced boredom.

"I did nothing to alter the silencing spell you cast. You had reason to prevent her from speaking on the train, did you not?" Antonin replaced his own wand in his hip holster. "Do not take me for a fool, Severus. I know you have some clever plan up your sleeve. I will do what it takes to redeem my standing with the Dark Lord. If that means nipping at your heels until our Lord sees me as a loyal servant once again, then so be it."

The sliding door to the loo opened and Hannah's voice rang out. "My wand!" She rushed to Snape and snatched it out of his hand. She did not see Antonin watching her facial expression change from anxiety to security as her fingers clasped the wood and as a bright aura radiated off her.

There was an awkward moment of silence until Antonin turned to Hannah. "I shall take my leave of you, my _suka_," he said with gentile politeness as he bowed to her, betraying his underhanded insult. She gave him a forced smile in return.

He followed much more stiffly with a simple "I'll leave you to it" as he regarded Snape with wary eyes. He left the room with a smirk for himself and a determination to make Miss Abbott _his bitch_. He'd kill Snape before he let him bed the girl.

#########

Hannah shifted on nervous feet as Dolohov left the room. She was rather relieved that he had left the door open. She did not fancy being behind a closed door with yet another Death Eater, even if he was her former potions professor.

"Miss Abbott," the professor drawled, quite aware that Dolohov's footsteps had stopped just outside the door and not gone down the hallway to the noisy pub below. "Firstly, let me welcome you back to Hogwarts."

She eyed him with skepticism. "If there's a problem with my tuition, please just get straight to the point."

"Yes," Snape agreed with coldness, "it would seem that your relatives left it to me to announce your disinheritance of the Abbott estate. As it stands, your tuition, room and board has been revoked, leaving it entirely to the school to cover your costs."

"That's absurd! Only this morning Aunt—" Hannah faltered. "Well, my uncle—" Once again she was flustered. "Why can't I remember the names of my family members?" she cried out.

"A complex memory charm was performed after your family dropped you off at the station. Perhaps you remember an aged wizard dropping his hat and you helping him to pick it up."

"Yes. I was going to board the train. He had long white hair, a mustache as long as his beard—"

"You could be describing any wizened old man, Miss Abbott. It will do you no good to dwell on regaining your memories, as the hired wizard was an expert in Obliviation skills. He was an Unspeakable, much like your father." Snape took out a roll of parchment and unfurled it, glancing at it on occasion as he continued. "Your family sent me an untraceable missive, which explains that you will have no recollection of the identity of your family members and you will be unable to locate any addresses of their properties. You will only recall your childhood home, as it has an address known to public institutions, but magic wards prevent you from entering the property. Most memories of your past year have also been obliviated, but you will retain skills and spellwork gained during your homeschooling. You are now the only known Abbott in the wizarding world. Of course your father is still at large, but since his disappearance thirteen years ago, no one can truly say they know if he is alive. Such is the life of an Unspeakable."

"And his daughter," Hannah said with a resigned sigh. She tottered backwards.

"You look rather pale, Miss Abbott. Sit on the bed before you faint."

_Is Dolohov right about Snape? Time will tell. _


	6. Chapter 6

**April 23, 2012  
><strong>_**Author's Note**_: Thank you for following, favoriting and reviewing this story. It seems to attract new readers, and I do appreciate knowing that readers are interested in continuing with the story. This chapter contains a bit of sexual innuendo and more language warranting the M rating.

_**April 28, 2012**_**  
><strong>_**Addendum:**_ I want to thank my Beta, AdrienneGracify, for reading and commenting on the chapter. I was just too impatient to wait for input before I posted my own edits on the 23rd. I'll be incorporating some of her suggestions meant for this chapter into upcoming chapters.

_Minor edit, April 28th._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Previous Chapter<strong>_

_Snape took out a roll of parchment and unfurled it, glancing at it on occasion as he continued. "Your family sent me an untraceable missive, which explains that you will have no recollection of the identity of your family members and you will be unable to locate any addresses of their properties. You will only recall your childhood home, as it has an address known to public institutions, but magic wards prevent you from entering the property. Most memories of your past year have also been obliviated, but you will retain skills and spellwork gained during your homeschooling. You are now the only known Abbott in the wizarding world. Of course your father is still at large, but since his disappearance thirteen years ago, no one can truly say they know if he is alive. Such is the life of an Unspeakable."_

_"And his daughter," Hannah said with a resigned sigh. She tottered backwards._

_"You look rather pale, Miss Abbott. Sit on the bed before you faint."_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

Antonin lounged, arms crossed over his chest, against the grimy wall of the Hog's Head Inn's lodge corridor. His casual demeanor belied his effort to hear everything that was said and done through the open door of the room, where he had left Snape alone with the girl. He heard creaking springs and a plaintive groan from the wooden bed frame. The idea of Snape crawling on the bed after her made him see red.

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you Headmaster?" the girl asked, her voice cracking nervously.

Antonin heard the coverlet's rustling and the complaints of the box springs as she settled herself.

Snape gave a clipped answer: "No."

Antonin slipped across the open doorway to see what they were doing. Snape had turned away from the girl, and Antonin met the empty and chilling eyes of a man who had witnessed tragedies far greater than being disowned by one's relatives.

The professor whirled back to the girl, and Antonin's gaze drifted to the girl. She had her forehead cradled in her hands and rested her elbows on her knees, her trainer-shodden feet poised on the wooden rail surrounding the mattress.

"We must discuss your future at Hogwarts."

Antonin saw Hannah's pout when she looked up at the professor with small, sad eyes before she lowered her head again.

Snape made no move to comfort her. His squared shoulders were immobile as he continued, "You will be required to work for your room and board. That said, you will be rewarded for returning to Hogwarts in compliance with the decree of the Ministry of Magic. Your tuition fee has been waived."

Hannah raised her head slowly. Her lips were pursed together, and her wide eyes stared at her professor with incredulity. "It's not possible to work and keep up with my schoolwork! You can't be serious. I won't join the elf brigade to prepare meals or clean students' quarters while I'm meant to be studying!"

The headmaster cocked his head back to shake a length of hair out of his face. "The Dark Lord has been gracious enough to permit impoverished students to continue their schooling. The line must be drawn somewhere. Half-bloods will not ride on the coat tails of the Pure-bloods who deserve the accommodations of this institution. Since you cannot pay your room and board, you will work for it."

"But there must be other students who cannot afford nine months of room and board. The Weasleys haven't even got lint in their moneybags!"

The professor growled, "It will behoove you to remember your place, Miss Abbott! The Weasleys are of a Pure-blood pedigree. I will not discuss the pecuniary status of other students with you. Suffice it to say that there is no other student who shares your predicament."

"I refuse," she retorted, jutting out her chin. "I'll leave Hogwarts before I ever work for my supper."

"Then you will run into some very nasty Snatchers, who delight in capturing fools that flaunt rebellion against the ministry." He sighed wearily, dropping his shoulders.

His change of countenance attracted her attention. Her eyes roved over the misery on his face and the fatigue in his bones. "Headmaster Snape, please tell me this entire scheme is a charade. Professor Sprout used to tell us that Hufflepuff and Slytherin are like peas in a pod. As long as we don't act like stuck up Gryffindor pigs, she assured us we could trust you like our own Head of House."

"More the pity that you believed her," Snape countered.

"You are not the evil man you pretend to be, Professor Snape! I didn't even believe the rumors that you had murdered Headmaster Dumbledore until the Daily Prophet ran an article announcing you had succeeded him by Wizard's Duel. I still think the story in the Prophet can't possibly be the whole truth."

He mocked her with cruel laughing. "I deceived everyone. Until that day, no one had a shred of proof to indict me of treachery. Oh, yes, they all had their doubts." He glanced behind him to see that Antonin was still watching their conversation. "I proved where my loyalties lay on the day I killed Albus Dumbledore. Never forget that I am a Death Eater, first and foremost."

"A Death Eater!" she snorted. "That does not frighten me anymore. Not after today."

There was a long pause. After the seconds became thoroughly awkward, Snape barked, "Explain yourself."

Hannah leaned across the bed and grabbed the snuffed-out cigar off the bed stand, putting her reckless ponytail and crumpled school robe in full view of Antonin until she straightened up. He leaned further into the doorway to watch her run the length of the stogie under her nose and breath in its mellow smell of damp earth.

Antonin was intrigued by the long cheroot running along her upper lip. He felt a yearning twitch, wishing she'd brush her lip along his own great length. He noted the flush on Snape's face after the man placed his cupped hands strategically over the front of his robe.

Hannah tucked the unlit cigar between her lips and hopped off the bed. Antonin hid himself once again, all the while envying the roll of wrapped tobacco grazed by her teeth and undoubtedly tasted with her tongue. Never looking to his station at the door, Hannah snatched the open bottle of vodka from the nightstand and poured a spot of vodka into her cold teacup. She transfigured the saucer into another dainty cup. Pouring significantly more into the second cup, she pushed it toward Snape.

She had to relinquish the cigar when she lifted the teacup to her lips. Snape lunged at her to stop her from drinking the vodka, but she downed the drink in one go, coughing and spluttering after swallowing the hard liquor.

Nudging the other teacup to him, she muttered, "Just so you know, he drank straight from the bottle. Backwash and spit, and all that."

Snape stiffened in repulsion. "Sharing hard spirits with a Death Eater is a far cry from bonds of trust and honor."

Hannah laughed idly at such trifling particulars. "I can still smell him. Smoke. Liquor. And wet wool."

She flounced on the bed. "Sweat makes his woolen robe smell like sheep after the rain, don't you think?"

With a poorly silenced guffaw, the Headmaster remarked, "I must apologize, then, for the offensive smell. It must have been a torture most heinous."

At the door Antonin bit his teeth to keep himself from cursing the man.

Hannah sat up straighter. "You misunderstood. It's a comforting smell. Mr. Dovelet was a perfect gentleman. He _is _ trustworthy. Like you, Headmaster."

Snape roared with laughter. "You've been sipping at this cheap Muggle substitute for Amortentia. Here, finish this one off and it will clear your mind." The spirits sloshed onto the desk when he snatched up the second teacup and thrust it toward her. Taunting her and waving the cup under her nose, he snarled, "Go on. Drink up."

Vodka spilled onto her school robe when Snape pushed the cup to her mouth. She steadied the cup and swallowed what remained. Snape drew his hand back, and with neither of them holding the cup, the transfigured porcelain fell to the floor and shattered.

Breathing in long draughts of air to relieve the burning in her throat, she managed to wheeze, "Would you look at that. It didn't turn back into a saucer when it broke apart."

She wiped her mouth with her sleeve, stood to face the man towering before her, and kicked a delicate curve of the handle under the bed. With a fair bit of bravado, she tapped her pointer finger on the Headmaster's chest and mocked, "Oh ho! The big, bad Death Eater made me drink Firewhiskey!"

Snape grabbed her arm and drew his wand to her face. "Your leash just got shorter, Miss Abbott. Take care not to choke yourself when you run away with your tail between your legs."

"You won't hurt me," she declared triumphantly.

Antonin rushed Snape, wand pointed to the back of his head, and threatened between clenched teeth, "Let go of the girl, Severus."

Hannah raised on her tip toes to see past Snape's shoulder so she could beam a smile at Antonin. "He would never hurt a student. Well, maybe he'd do a number on Potter. He can't seem to stand the boy. But to the rest of us – he's as tame as you."

Snape shook the girl with both hands. "Foolish girl!" With spittle on his lips, he shouted at her, "Do you know why you feel safe with Mr. Dolohov? I'll tell you. You look like his wife! His dead wife. The woman who was killed by your hero, Albus Dumbledore."

Antonin stumbled backwards. It was the first he'd ever heard anyone explain who'd cast the curse that look the life of his beloved wife. Hannah turned away from Snape to search Dolohov's stricken face.

Snape swung his wand into her face to refocus her attention on him. "Yes, the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever seen was a murderer, too," he shouted in fury. "Aside from the Dark Lord, I alone saw how his unintended victim was struck down. Dumbledore, that meddling old coward, aimed to end the first Wizarding War with a single deadly curse. He might have succeeded if Aliz Wulff hadn't sacrificed herself." Snape lowered his voice. "She wasn't meant to die. Her final act as a Death Eater was to martyr herself and the child in her womb."

"Aliz!" Antonin whispered. He grabbed the first thing his hands could connect with and threw a wooden chair across the room. It hurtled into the hallway and crashed into a wall.

"Oy!" an alarmed voice sounded in the hall. "Fuckin'ell. Could kill a bloke!"

Hannah gave Antonin a sympathetic frown, which he met with a cold, angry grimace.

When Snape tapped Hannah under her chin with the tip of his wand, he forced her gaze back to him. "After that, your beloved Headmaster refused to duel again. The bastard was afraid of tarnishing his soul. You lot of dunces thought it would be darling to name yourselves Dumbledore's Army! Look at you now. You're as useless as he was!"

Aberforth Dumbledore rushed into the room. "What in Hell's skivvies in going on here, Severus?"

Snape, red faced, jugular vein throbbing, turned to pub owner. "Meet Hannah Abbott, your new barmaid. I'd send her to Rosmerta, but the girl needs a place to sleep at night and food to eat by day. Now then, this parchment contains her class schedule. Ideally, you'll excuse her from the pub to attend classes, but I'm not particular about this ... _mongrel_.

"As you have been told, seventh year students may visit the village freely, day or night. I'm sure you'll keep Miss Abbott busy when the lower years are visiting on weekends. The castle gates lock at nine and open at six. The Carrows will see to it that she is punished severely if ever she is caught inside the castle between those hours or discovered in the Great Hall during meals or feasts. Please give her accommodations fitting her attitude and effort.

"If she causes you any trouble, I suggest that you turn her over to your distinguished patrons for a spell. She'll likely heel after receiving the proper obedience training."

The brother of Albus perused the days and times on the parchment, then thrust the schedule into Hannah's hands. He coughed once before saying in his gruff voice, "With all due respect, Sir, the Hog's Head is hardly the place for a naïve chit like this one."

Severus said with scorn,"She doesn't seem to think that Death Eaters will harm her. As a matter of fact, she's perfectly content to be in the company of one Antonin Dolohov, here."

Antonin shoved the elderly Dumbledore brother aside and fisted the cloak at Snape's neck. "You sick fucker. She'll be lucky if she can still stand on her own two legs after one night here. She'll be shagged six ways to Sunday before the sun rises."

Snape wandlessly placed an innocuous hand-numbing hex on Antonin that forced him to let go of his robe. "Seeing that your _swain _Rowle isn't here, I won't stop you from having the first go with her. If she gets cold feet, the Snatchers are waiting with open arms. I think I hear Scabior and Fenrir's coarse tongues wagging at the bar this very moment. I'm not above scenting them on her trail."

Antonin tried to punch Snape but his hands were still too numb to form a proper fist and he ended up bitch-slapping the man instead.

"That's enough," Aberforth growled, pushing Antonin back.

Snape adjusted his robe. "Don't bother attending the start of term feast, Miss Abbott. Your luggage will be delivered to you later this evening."


	7. Chapter 7

**June 29, 2012**  
><strong>Author Note: <strong>_I have become impatient with myself over not posting. I'm not overly concerned with a polished chapter, and I have not even attempted to have this Beta-read. I'd like to just get it posted and move on with the story. I may have a different tone in this chapter. It is what it is._

* * *

><p>Previous Chapter:<p>

_Antonin shoved the elderly Dumbledore brother aside and fisted the cloak at Snape's neck. "You sick fucker. She'll be lucky if she can still stand on her own two legs after one night here. She'll be shagged six ways to Sunday before the sun rises."_

_Snape wandlessly placed an innocuous hand-numbing hex on Antonin that forced him to let go of his robe. "Seeing that your boyfriend Rowle isn't here, I won't stop you from having the first go with her. If she gets cold feet, the Snatchers are waiting with open arms. I think I hear Scabior and Fenrir's coarse tongues wagging at the bar this very moment. I'm not above scenting them on her trail."_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

The old barman escorted the girl away amidst his grumbling about "that irascible man thinks he can order me around" and "reinforce wards" not to mention the odd mumbling about "have to _Extirpo _the goat's eggs."

Hannah glanced back to see Antonin glowering before he swilled his vodka and slammed the door shut. She could smell the cigar burning once again.

She had to hurry down corridor to catch up to the old man, and she discovered that she was a bit clumsy descending the steps to the ground level. The vodka was having more effect on her than she had realized. As it was, she finally reached the solid floor of the bar and clung to the corner of the stairwell while her head swam in a mist of confusion.

"Abbott!" the growling command shot out.

Hannah turned to look at the barkeep's disgruntled countenance, a frown etched deeply into that wizened face. She ignored the hatefulness that emanated from him, even though he wore it as though he were an old man who'd accidentally attacked himself with Merlin's Beard Removal & Cool Comfort Cologne because he'd been startled when he mistook his hoary wife for He Who Must Not Be Named.

The very thought prompted a rush of memories of a wizarding clinic filled with such elderly lechers whose wandering hands had caressed her white-skirted bum while she'd been spelling their bedside tables clean. These were such odd memories. She knew that there couldn't have been so many old men in her own family, so the Obliviate was still in place. She also knew that she'd never attended Flitwick's Homemaking for the Young Wizard or Witch symposiums, so she hadn't learned the hospital cleaning wandwork at Hogwarts.

The only solution she could think of was that this was a memory that was resurfacing related to some training she'd received during the year away from the wizardry school. For all she knew, she might have been a junior medi-witch at St. Mungo's during her absence.

Hannah was forced out of her reverie by her unwilling guardian's gruff voice.

"Down the stairs, to the left. Carry up ten cases of Firewhiskey. And unless you want to go Boom, you'll not be levitating with your wand. It's a volatile substance that has a very unfavorable reaction to timid magic."

Hannah loped over to the soot-blackened doorframe that led to a cellar below the main bar. She froze in the darkened entrance and looked down a shadowy set of stairs that led into an earthen cavern. She caught the scents of tilled soil, rotted tree roots long dead, earthworms after rain and some fermentation of the non-alcoholic kind, the smell of decay.

She pulled out her wand and muttered, "Lumos."

"No." A subtle movement by the elderly Dumbledore brother cancelled the light of her wandtip. "Let your eyes adjust by themselves. Otherwise you won't be able to carry to the Firewhiskey without blowing us all up."

Over the raucous laughter of the Death Eaters in the bar on the other side of the wall, she groused to herself, "Good riddance it would be."

Stowing her wand securely, she ventured onto the wooden steps. She creaked and squeaked into the gloom below. The air took on a damp chill that her few sips of vodka did nothing to ameliorate now.

#######

* * *

><p>Antonin found no satisfaction with the moss-and-damp-earth aroma of his cigar. He snuffed it out and ambled to the washroom.<p>

There was nothing fancy to the Hog's Head Inn, and the water closet was no exception. This wash room was composed of a commode, a sink stained in mysterious scarlet-brown blotches which had not responded to standard rust-removal charms, and a stodgy shower stall. The mirror was so grimy that he saw only a shadow of himself in the reflection.

He stripped off his robe, leaving it to drape over the sink. With a wave of his wand, water burst from the showerhead, and another flick set the water temperature to just-below scorching, or as hot as he could take it, which was, in fact, quite hot. Then he stepped under the torrent.

His silent tears mingled with the deluge scalding his face. The only bit of emotion that Azkaban had not taken away from him was the pain of losing his beloved Aliz. Even that dolor had been brightened by the solitary hope of enacting vengeance on the one responsible for her death. He had kept his sanity barely in check by feeding the Dementors his obsession with finding his wife's killer.

The new knowledge that it was Dumbledore who was responsible for the death Aliz, and the realization that his vengeance had been thwarted because Severus Snape had already killed the fearsome wizard, resulted in his last hope swirling down the drain in sooty rivulets. He felt renewed anger, caused by today's discovery that his wife had sacrificed herself for the Dark Lord. The sacrifice was never recognized, and there had been no posthumous acknowledgement of her valor.

He had not made her see reason. They had long quarreled over her insistence in continuing as a Dark Guard, a last line of defense to protect their master. She could have excused herself. Many a dark wizard had secured a wife and children in his ancestral castle or villa. Yet Aliz would not hear of it.

Not bothering with lathering his unkempt hair or even scrubbing grime off his body, he stepped out of the shower. The flow of water ceased abruptly. Dripping on the worn grain of the wood floor, he seized upon the girl as his last alternative. She was a few good years younger than Aliz had been.

They'd met as schoolmates at Durmstrang. The Abbott girl must be close to the age they had been when he'd banged Aliz the first time. Knowing that Snape had no love lost over her made this easy.

His determination to have the girl easily coupled with his jealousy at the thought of any man in the bar below taking her first. With impatience he dried under a breeze produced by his wand and he slipped his filthy robe back on.

* * *

><p><strong>Note<strong>: _Extirpo _ is an original spell (original here meaning that I named the concept) used for cleaning extremely foul and harmful messes, which results in the vanishing of all traces of a substance. The goat's eggs refer to the feces produced by his goat. Now why were there goat feces inside the living quarters that Aberforth had a need to ward? Hmmm. I'll let you figure that one out. It might help to remember that Aberforth was once prosecuted for illegal charms on goats, or something like that.


	8. Chapter 8

**August 29, 2012  
><em>Author's Note: <em>**This chapter earns its M rating for its dark sexual content, including _**thoughts**_ of torture / bodily harm. No Hannah-Antonin romance yet.

I've been doing plenty of research and reading of fan fiction these past months, as well as a bit of wallowing in despair. After getting such wonderful reviews of late, I began to wonder if I could actually fill the shoes I had already worn in writing the previous chapters. _Self-doubt rears the ugly head of fear of failure: __**such a horrible dragon. Slay it we must!**_

_Bride of Dolohov_ will include symbolic references from an alchemical emblem, the Azoth of the Philosophers, published by Basil Valentine in 1659. The message in Latin around the Azoth, a symbol to teach the secrets of the art of alchemy, spells out the acronym V.I.T.R.I.O.L. and is very, very roughly translated: _**Start a journey **/** at the innermost parts **/** of the earth;**/** by purification,**/** you will discover **/** the hidden **/** Stone.**_

The Azoth is a series of images that symbolize alchemy, and I'll be writing some of that symbolism into the story. Although it's not necessary to recognize the references to follow along, readers might appreciate knowing where I'm getting some of my ideas. The website azothalchemy dot org has a detailed interpretation under the link "Ritual of the AZoth" or "AZoth Ritual Working," in which the ritual is thoughtful consideration of the emblem. I'm not affiliated with the Alchemy Guild. I do appreciate the information on their website.

Becoming familiar with alchemy has helped me to understand symbolism that I would have overlooked in other stories, such as the movie _Snow White and the Huntsman_ and, of course, the Harry Potter series. JKR highlighted important events in her narrative by use of key words and imagery tied to alchemy.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Last chapter:<strong>_

_His determination to have the girl easily coupled with his jealousy at the thought of any man in the bar below taking her first. With impatience he dried under a breeze produced by his wand and he slipped his filthy robe back on. _

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

Hannah was reminded of the time her mother had taken her spelunking – cave exploring. She had been vacationing with Muggle cousins during the summer after her first year at Hogwarts. That had been a strange afternoon, being surrounded by distant relatives, who were clueless about the existence of wizards and witches. The restriction against underage use of magic had been hard enough that summer, without having to deal with relatives having no appreciation for the magic imbued in rosewood and dragon heartstring and in the swish and flick of a wand.

Those relatives were no longer in her memory. They were merely blurry placeholders in her thoughts. The ghostly visual echoes were like her magical picture taken before the beginning of sixth year at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. She'd purged Justin Finch-Fletchley from the moving photo, but she wanted a keepsake because she had looked very pretty in her yellow sundress that day.

The fling with Justin had started with correspondence at the end of their fifth year. They later had their first date at Diagon Alley when they purchased their Hogwarts supplies in mid-August.

He'd been a charming boyfriend during those boring summer months, whittled away by owling love notes back and forth. Justin had quoted romantic poetry in his parchments and he'd made grand promises that he would become the most prominent Muggle-born gentleman-statesman in the London Ministry of Magic, bringing Hannah with him as a distinguished half-blood witch. He'd continued to woo and wow Hannah at the start of their sixth year, sending her owls of delicately wrapped Peppermint Toads, Ginger Newts, Licorice Wands, and even exquisite Peer Hermes pastries flown directly from France.

She wasn't overly impressed with his fancy gifts. She knew that his family had considerable prestige in the Muggle world and that he had been meant to be an Etonian, had his wizarding powers not been revealed when he was invited to attend Hogwarts. Her roommates had badgered her to no end over the sweets, and she was certain that most of the confections ended up in their mouths instead of hers.

The trouble in her personal paradise had struck when she received word of her mother's murder. Her Hufflepuff roommates informed Justin immediately and sent him to console her in the dormitory while they made themselves scarce for the night.

He provided her an elegant shoulder to cry upon and let her sniffle on his cashmere House robe. She warned him of dangers to his family of Muggles and he put on a brave face. He knew that she was being removed from the school by her family's choice, so he helped her pack her belongings.

Then he lay on her bed and told her it was time to rest. He had removed his robe and cotton dress shirt, folded them, and had put them to the side. Hannah had been a bit intimidated to see him in his white undershirt, and more startled when he had unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants to reveal white cotton boxer shorts.

He'd declared that he was doing what any good friend would do. She cuddled into his warmth and breathed a shuddering sigh. When her eyes had closed, his wet lips fell upon hers. She gave a start, and he backed off. But then she wanted that slobbery kiss, so she leaned toward him with opened lips and he met her halfway. The excitement of kissing in bed with a boy made her feel happy and sick to her stomach all at once.

His hands explored over her clothes and rubbed between her legs. When she realized that she was going to have sex for the first time on the day that she'd been told of her mother's murder, she burst into gut-wrenching sobs.

"You need this. _We_ need this, Hannah," Justin had insisted, pulling her back down to the bed. "After all I've done for you, show me that it was worth the effort."

She screeched and forced him off her body and onto the floor. She cast a jinx on him that she'd only seen Harry Potter demonstrate in the D.A.

"Get out!" she screamed. He was doing the jig with a prominent tent in his skivvies, and she'd pushed him into the hallway of the girl's dormitory, flinging his shoes, the rest of his clothes, and his wand after him. She sealed the dormitory from her roommates and sunk to the stone floor to cry until she had no more energy left but to sniffle.

Those sixth-year memories now crushed her chest as she sank into the darkness of the dank cellar below the Hog's Head. At the bottom step she slid down, ignoring the gossamer strand of spider web that brushed her hand.

The chill of the earthen cavern clawed through her skin into the depths of her bones. It was like she was lost in the cave of her misfortunes, not allowed to perform magic, with no one to hear her plea for help.

The rancorous shouts in the bar above her grounded her in reality. Her family was gone, evanished, blurry figures without faces or voices. She didn't have a boyfriend to lean on. Justin hadn't ever written to her again, and she had left it at that. This year he hadn't returned to Hogwarts due to You Know Who's persecution of Muggle-borns, and the Hufflepuff rumor mill said that he'd fled the country with his parents.

Maybe this year she would have tolerated his immature attempt to comfort himself through having sex. Maybe she would hex his testicles off this time, now that she had witnessed the effects of that curse in patients at the hospital – the old men's ward that floated in and out of her memories.

She knew she was still tipsy enough to think that sex might solve her problems. All she needed was a man.

But there were twenty men in the bar above who weren't going to kiss her tenderly and make love to her, whispering that all would be okay. Justin had only misspoken, said a few careless words. He hadn't intended to harm. Oh, his words had hurt her, but Hannah knew now that Justin thought sex meant making love. He'd been confused, not aggressive.

After she'd thrown him into the hallway, he hadn't retaliated. He hadn't told a single Hufflepuff what had transpired, except to call himself a dunce and to say that Hannah had been within her rights to ask him to leave her dormitory. _Ask_ _him to leave_. Not force him out. He'd made it sound as though being hexed and tossed out in his boxer shorts was the most reasonable response that a co-ed could have to a Hufflepuff with an erection bulging in his shorts.

Saint Justin. Patron of virgins. She laughed to herself and then stifled another sob.

Those depraved men upstairs were going to rape her. They were going to take her one by one. They would cauterize her vagina and her rectum between gang bangs, and she was going to be strung up in a dungeon and left to rot unless rats ate her bloody body first.

She could save the scoundrels all the trouble and by simply dousing herself in the Fire Whiskey and conjuring blue bell flames. She'd seen the fire leaping in the glassware of the rogues who drank at the Leaky Cauldron.

She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and looked around the cellar. She discovered that she didn't need her wand-tip lit. There were glowing balls of magical phosphorescence hovering in mid-air, illuminating the fusty vault.

In a far corner, she made out wooden crates emblazoned with orangey glowing words "Wizards' Finest Fire Whiskey."

##########

Aberforth stood in the doorframe, blocking Antonin from leaving the room. "Pay up. You've made yourself quite at home."

"You can have your pissy key back," the Death Eater sneered. With a subtle flick of the wrist, the magical key hovered in front of the barkeep's nose.

The old man snatched it from the air. "About Abbott - the girl has to learn to work. Real work. Not the shite my brother taught children about ivory towers and ivy-strewn castles."

"Get straight to the point, Dumbledore."

"Don't interfere with the girl."

Antonin growled, "She won't be your concern much longer."

The silver eyebrows lifted in surprise and then narrowed in calculation. "You are right, of course. The wolf has had his eyes searching for her since she traipsed drunkenly to the cellar. She'll be dead by dawn."

"Fenrir!" Antonin shouted as he pushed Aberforth back and rushed down the hall.

########

**END NOTES**

Peer Hermes: fictionalized reference to Pierre Herme. No rights infringement intended.

My choice of Hannah's unusual wand of rosewood may shoot me in the foot later on. Dragon heartstring: well, duh, she's got to tame a dragon. Come on, people! Try to keep up with me. _*wink*_

Justin Finch-Fletchley might not have attended sixth year in canon. But in my personal fanon, he did. Harumph.

_*Everything in my own fanon is correct … even my mistakes. Hah! Take that, logical analysts. What? You see, I don't have someone to argue with, so I have to create argumentative people in my imagination. I think it is past my bedtime. Waaaaay past.*_


	9. Chapter 9

**October 25, 2012**  
><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_H__eart-felt thanks goes to every reader who has corresponded with me about this story. Each of you that reviews and PMs me about my writing makes me want to write a great story to share online.  
><em>

_If the chapter isn't believable, as I fear, I'm amenable to reviewers telling me what scenarios might have worked better, given the circumstances._

**Warning:** Disturbing content, including violence, premeditation of rape and murder, sexual innuendo, adult situations. **_If you choose to not read the horror in this chapter, skip to the bottom of the page to get a simple recap of necessary plot information._**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

"Greyback!" Antonin vaulted down the stairs of the Hog's Head Inn and searched for the brute through a crowd of ruffians.

The pub's fireplace was congregated by a crowd of Death Eaters flooing to their homes for supper with their families. Perennially unmarried blokes littered the tables of the pub. Among them, Fenrir Grayback, sitting with a pack of currish outdoorsmen, was shuffling a tattered deck of cards.

Antonin prowled around the table and faced off, wand in hand, against the werewolf, who continued to riffle a bridge of cards in his woolly hands.

"What's got your two 'little bells' in a twist, Dolohov? A new pair of knickers?"

The scruffy band of Snatchers sitting with the werewolf put their hands to their clothes, ready to draw their wands, should the altercation get ugly.

"What's your interest in the schoolgirl?"

"Snape wasn't joking, was he, men?" Greyback slapped the deck of cards to the table and stood up, leaving the Snatchers to deal him out of the next hand. "My, oh, my. Indeed, you have taken a shine to the runt."

Antonin steeled his eyes and forced a nonchalant expression on his face. "I did the job Snape required of me. Stick to your job, and don't touch the girl. If she makes a run for it, I will be the one who brings her back, not you."

"Giving orders? See, now, I don't recall your Dark Lord telling me to report to you," Greyback challenged.

Dolohov shook his head. "This is a warning. Stay away from her – you and your dogs. She won't run. I'll make sure of it."

Fenrir broke into a grin. "You are a bold fucker." He slapped his hairy hand on the man's shoulder. He drew Antonin closer to his chest, angling away from the projecting wandtip, and spoke in the voice of a confidante, "It's a couple of whelps what got your wolverine occupied."

"My _v__ol_-_wer_-_een _?" Antonin lowered his wand, reverting to an old habit of transposing vee and double-u in speech.

Fenrir snickered. "How could I not see your new little pussy's resemblance to Aliz Wulff? Snape told me 'n' Scabior how in one short afternoon you've already got her tasting your cigar and lapping your juices."

Antonin's face flushed with red splotches above his black stubble of a beard. After he stowed his wand as a distraction, he forced himself to look into the leaden silver of Greyback's eyes. "I did no such thing to her."

"Pity you insist on being an unadulterating gentleman, then. I doubt Warrington and Flint are showing similar restraint with the bint at this moment. I don't suppose Pucey has much restraint either."

"Damn those maggots!" Dolohov felt his chest solidify and his nipples harden as adrenaline coursed through him. "Where have the bastards taken her?"

Scabior chuckled as he folded his hand at the table. He tottered back on his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. "She must be some pert little witch to attract so much attention." He caught Antonin's glare, and continued, "Aberforth sent her to the cellar. She's been nipping at a bottle already, so it won't take much for those boys to spread her like an eagle. They were looking awful peckish, if you know what I mean."

"Damn them to Hell!" Dolohov pushed Greyback aside and stormed toward the cellar door.

###########

Less than an hour earlier, Hannah had been kneeling on the crumbly earthen floor of the cellar. She had been attempting to put her suicide plan into action, chiefly, lighting herself on fire.

When she had tried prying open a crate of Fire Whiskey using her bare hands, she'd only succeeded in wedging a large splinter under the nail of her middle finger. She sucked on the pulsing and painful finger, and was now wishing to free of the pain so that she could focus on the task at hand. She had thought better of using a healing spell, because the barkeep had warned her about the dangers of her magic combining with the copious supply of alcohol, thus causing a catastrophic explosion.

A low male voice startled her. She froze in panic when she heard the lewd suggestion: "Suck my cock instead of your finger, and we'll both be happy." Another man guffawed.

Hannah felt her back and neck stiffening in terror. She fought her body's fear-induced paralysis and stammered. "I-I've got a wand. Leave me a-alone."

She heard a deep grunt as shoes twice as long as her own feet stepped into her view. The black leather was unobscured by the same-colored robe ending just above the ankles. A new, gruff voice accompanied the feet and growled, "My wand does all sorts of tricks. Open my robe and see for yourself."

"Go away," Hannah said firmly, without removing her eyes from the crate in front of her.

"And leave Warrington and Pucey to chase their Quaffles into you? No. Look at me, Bitch, and remember my face. I'm Marcus Flint. After you blow me some head, I'm going to fuck you good and hard. Look at me!"

Hannah shook as she fished her wand out of the folds of her robe. "I am not afraid to duel you," she whispered, wrenching her head up to look at the menace looming over her.

Flint bared his crooked teeth and sneered. "Leave the duel for Cassius. It's Warrington who fucks dead bodies."

"I get off on the suck and fuck." It was the first voice she'd heard. He was a squat, muscled goon with a square jaw, which was now yammering at her. "I like to chew off their little titties while they're still warm so I can have me a good suck off. Fucking inconvenient when a witch is shorter than me." He looked over her size, calculating how she'd fit his desires.

Hannah blanched in disgust and looked away, her eyes landing on a third young man, who was taller and skinnier than the other two. He was frowning in disbelief at his lurid companion.

Marcus seized hold of Hannah's wrist and gouged a thick finger against her knuckles until she dropped her wand. "Alright, then, Pucey. You were always the smart one. Charm her mouth to open for me."

Hannah struggled on her knees to escape from Marcus, but the way her arm was suddenly twisted behind her back took her breath away in pain. She found herself immobilized by the man's physical force. She craned her neck to look up at the taller man who came forward, wand extended, and she begged him, "No, don't do this!"

Marcus growled, "Prove you have what it takes, Pucey. Charm her mouth and throat wide enough to take me in. You remember how big I was up in your ass. I don't need to reacquaint you with the biggest cock in the history of Slytherin, do I?"

"Help me! Please, somebody, help me!" Hannah screamed, her throat burning with the pain of forcing her voice so loudly.

Adrian hesitated, staring at Hannah's desperate face. He flicked his wand and mumbled something, but a measly spark flew out of the tip and nothing else happened.

"Do it!" Marcus shouted at Adrian, who flinched.

"I can't – I won't do this." Adrian slumped his shoulders. "It's sick, Flint."

"Crucio!" Marcus yelled. He'd let go of Hannah's arm to curse Adrian. As the man fell to the ground and curled up like a fetus, shaking and whimpering in pain, Marcus gloated.

Hannah grabbed her wand from the ground and used a simple charm to open the crate of Fire Whiskey. With her free hand she grabbed a bottle, tossed it high into the air of the phosphorescent-green-lit cavern and aimed a second charm to force the contents to disperse in the air. "Inflammo!" The droplets of Fire Whiskey caught fire in mid air. Hannah cowered close to the ground, her arms shielding her face and the top of her head.

She heard the bellowing cries of Marcus Flint and Cassius Warrington first. An odd sensation of coolness enveloped her before she heard Adrian Pucey's girlish screams of agony.

##########

Antonin had heard Hannah's heart-curdling plea for help just after he used "Alohomora" to unlock and open the cellar door. He had a knack for moving soundlessly, which he used for his advantage that moment, not knowing what he'd face when he reached the bottom step.

He took in the scene of the Abbott girl crawling on her knees, scrambling to find something on the ground. Flint was relishing the pain he exacted through the Cruciatus curse, while Warrington looked on in lusty appreciation of the victim's suffering.

His wand was at the ready, but Antonin remained in the shadows, calculating the time that Flint would lose interest in casting the forbidden curse. Hannah's incantations and movements caught his attention. Then he saw Warrington peruse her antics with curiosity, the mug's heavy-set eyes glinting in malicious mirth.

It was the glimmer of light that set Antonin into motion. The ambient green light reflected off the bottle of Fire Whiskey as it sailed up into the air. He registered the smell of the hard drink in the air moments before she set the cellar aflame. He leapt toward her as thousands of tiny fires erupted in his face. His swift action gave him a chance to cast an air bubble charm around her crouching body before his own magic burst out of control and forced him to transform into his dark magic Animangus.

The fire now felt pleasantly warm against his thickened hide. The screams of agony and the stench of burning flesh were only mildly irritating. His eyes lit upon Hannah Abbott, who was trembling on the ground, tears cascading down her cheeks. He gently wrapped his long tail around her and brought the protective air bubble close to his hind claws, brooding over her like a she-dragon protecting an egg in her clutch.

He read horror in her eyes as she looked up at his enormous body. Her fear of him made him unhappy. He wanted to see that look of trust that she had given him in the afternoon. Looking away from her frightened face, he sucked in a great breath, swallowing the fire in great gulps. His tongue flicked the air to sense where the Fire Whiskey still burned, and he swallowed more and more fire, like a giant draining a pond dry.

A gradual lessening of peril relieved the dark magic that had instinctively transformed him into his dragon Animangus. With all but a few pockets of fire burning in the corners, his body returned to his human form. Gently releasing the bubble charm, he cradled Hannah to his chest, brushing his fingers through her singed hair, slipping her barrette off, and letting her sob, with body-wracking cries, on his shoulder.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Recap for those who chose not to read the disturbing contents of the chapter: <strong>Hannah was threatened with rape by Marcus Flint and Cassius Warrington. Their companion Adrian Pucey refused to participate and was tortured by Flint. That moment gave Hannah an opportunity to explode a bottle of Fire Whiskey and set the air of the cellar on fire. Antonin was warned by Fenrir Greyback and Scabior that the lecherous boys were with Hannah. He arrived in the cellar in time to shield Hannah from her fire with a full-body bubble charm. His dark magic forced him to turn into his dragon Animangus, which protected him from the fire and gave him the ability to put out the fire by swallowing it.  
><em>


	10. Chapter 10

**November 17, 2012**

**Author Note**: Thanks to _nagandsev_ for Beta reading and especially for encouraging me that my ideas are worth writing down.

I have had some help from _Saava_ to find a more appropriate Russian pet name for Dolohov to use for Hannah. For continuity, readers should assume that Dolohov previously called Hannah "my _suka_" [instead of "my _blyad_]."

**Warning**: minor character's death; slight amount of gore.

**Chapter 10 **

The Warrington boy interrupted Dolohov's cooing and shushing of Hannah's sobs. "You bitch!" Cassius shouted. "You barking, boggin bitch!"

Antonin held Hannah closer to his chest and drew his wand. "Stay behind me," he whispered into the frazzled blond hair over her ear before he gently let her go and stood in front of her. "Watch your tongue, Warrington," he growled in warning.

Marcus Flint lowered a glowing umbrella shield from his body. "Buggering shit! What the fuck just happened?"

"The slut exploded a bottle of Firewhiskey. Now give her over, Dolohov. We had her first, and I'm in the mood to punish her," Cassius demanded through his clenched teeth.

"Find someone else to maul. She is under my protection, and Flint will attest that I brought the girl—"

Marcus interrupted, "Blimey, Dolohov, that dragon summon was bloody fantastic!"

Hannah started to say, "He didn't summon it. The dragon—"

Dolohov spoke over her, "The dragon was simply a trick I picked up at Durmstrang."

"Simply a trick! Damn, that was brilliant. Listen, Warrington, give the man first dibs on the go-round with the bint. He bloody deserves it after that show."

As Cassius protested and Antonin threatened dire consequences, two men in heavy-booted feet clunked down the cellar steps. The gruff voice of Fenrir advised, "You've never seen Dolohov's wand work, Warrington. Don't incite him to a duel."

Scabior slunk from behind Fenrir, whistling through his teeth in amazement as he sauntered toward a browned-and-leathery-skin burnt body: that of Adrian Pucey. He kicked the lump of boy and muttered, "I prefer 'em raw, meself."

A weak moan issued from Adrian's crackled lips.

Hannah jerked her head up and then darted out from behind Antonin to kneel next to the boy. Dolohov restrained himself from hexing her out of anger and fear of what Warrington might attempt with the girl in the open.

"You're still alive," the girl whispered to the curled up body. "You're burnt all over! I thought the Firewhiskey would blow us all up. You're not supposed to be suffering. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Her renewed tears rolled onto Adrian's burnt skin and down to the blackened earth. The boy flinched in spasm, a residual effect of the Cruciatus curse.

"Oi, slut, get away from Pucey," Marcus seethed.

Dolohov shifted his attention from Cassius just in time to see Flint bare his teeth and cast a stinging hex at Hannah. She clutched her forearm to her chest. In the next moment, Antonin shot a cutting hex that slashed Marcus on his wand hand. This wand fell to the ground and his blood dripped onto it, while he howled in pain. Fenrir and Scabior quickly stepped back, wands in hands, surveying Flint, Warrington, and Dolohov.

Cassius sent a curse toward Antonin in a ray of weak chartreuse light, which Dolohov side-stepped with ease. Rather than following with an offensive attack on Warrington, Antonin cast a yellow jet of _Protego _at Hannah. She gave a start, her mouth dropping open in shock until she realized that her protector had not betrayed her.

Antonin gave her a wink and mouthed, "My _suka_. Mine." He deflected a curse sent by Warrington, and then another. Turning his attention toward the young Death Eater, he sneered and said, "You are too young to die a fool."

Fenrir agreed. "He's giving you a way out, boy. Take it before you go the way of the other idiots. Few have survived sparring wands with him."

Cassius snorted in contempt and said to Fenrir, "Dolohov's no threat to me. He's a has-been. Look at his filthy robes and crazy hair. Azkaban made him as deranged as the wife of Lestrange." He cast three jets of green-lit curses at Dolohov, gnashing his teeth when he saw how easily each was parried. In desperation, he raised his wand high and began to shout, "Avada—"

The words were cut off when Antonin's gravelly voice incanted, "_Offensio _**рассечь**!" A ray of purple light thrust into Warrington's shoulder and cut across his heart, all the way to the bottom of his opposite rib cage. Cassius gasped and looked down at the searing gash that cut open his robe and left a bloody trench in his body. He dropped his wand and then fell forward, his limp corpse smashing into the ashen floor with a sickening splash of blood.

Scabior grabbed Marcus Flint, encumbering the young man's arms at his sides. Despite his smaller frame, he clearly had the advantage of stronger muscles, and he easily overcame the clumsier man. "One dead is more than enough carnage between friends. Upstairs with you."

"I will hunt you down, Dolohov, and kill you," Marcus ground out between pursed lips as he tried to wrest out of Scabior's grasp.

Fenrir growled, "You have the making of a Snatcher. Stick around for the full moon, boy, and I'll turn you myself."

Marcus gave a maniacal grin, showing his crooked teeth. "I'd get wolfy to get revenge for Cassius."

Scabior dragged Flint up the cellar stairs. "Dolohov's untouchable, kid."

Hannah tore her eyes away from the spilled intestines and the pool of blood growing beneath Warrington's body. With a trembling hand, she lifted her wand in the air. A burst of white light shot from her wand tip, dispersing the _Protego _charm surrounding her. The ceiling glowed where the light passed through it. In the pub above them, there was a ruckus as several men jumped aside, knocking over chairs and smashing glass bottles of liquor. Hannah closed her eyes and began to chant guttural monosyllables, gliding her wand over Adrian.

Antonin grimaced and looked to Fenrir. "She's going to heal the bastard," he muttered in disbelief.

There was a shout from the elderly wizard Aberforth, who was now on the main floor of the pub. "Hell's knells. Who summoned this blasted chariot?"

Hannah looked toward the stairs leading out of the cellar. "It's here," she muttered before she levitated Adrian off the ground.

Antonin countered her charm, and the body of the Pucey dropped to the ground, resulting in his distressed moan. Hannah spun to face Antonin, her wand pointed at him.

Fenrir cleared his throat. "You saw what Dolohov did to the boy. Think twice before you make your man angry."

"_My man_?" Hannah snarled. "No _murderer _will ever be _my _man. I save lives, unlike those who take them. Speaking of which, I have to get this guy to a hospital before he dies, and no one is going to stop me."

"I killed Warrington because he was going to cast the Killing Curse on me and then rape and kill you. But I've killed for lesser offenses," Dolohov said with a cold patina of flat emotion. "Don't make the mistake of feeling sorry for a man who cannot defend himself or who makes poor judgment calls. Like the boy on the ground. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Let Pucey die."

"He deserves to die for refusing to let that other ogre of a man shove his penis down my throat, does he?" Hannah yelled.

Dolohov was calmly stepping closer to her, pointing his wand down low in a dramatic show of being harmless. His wand fingers twitched as be began a wordless spell to subdue the girl.

Hannah saw his hand movements and whipped her wand in a figure-eight motion. A silvery barricade of energy formed a wall between herself and Antonin. "I'm not stupid," she hissed at him. "Haven't you heard that even the small dog can hold a boar at bay?"

Dolohov lowered his wand at hearing her rhetorical question and peered at her in wonder. Fenrir chuckled and said, "You make for a charming 'small dog.'"

Hannah grimaced. "Go ahead. Call me a bitch. I'm getting used to it."

"No such thing, runt. If you know the pass-phrase 'the dog holds the boar at bay,' then you should consider us family, child. I can promise you this, young one: you won't be touched by a man again while you're here with me."

"We'll be having a chat, Greyback," Dolohov retorted with raised eyebrows and a smirk. He was testing the Abbott girl's magical barrier with his wand with little success in finding a way to remove it. "You won't be keeping me from my little _suchka_," he uttered, fully intrigued with the power of the magic before him.

Hannah shook her head to dash away her confusion at the sudden change in both men's demeanor. They were acting relaxed and even pleased with her. On the floor, Adrian began to wheeze, gasping for air. She turned her attention back to Adrian and whispered, "Mercy!"

A winged horse drawing a brilliant white chariot magically squeezed down the passage of the stairwell, flying into the basement, and alighted next to Hannah. Antonin was pushed further away as the shield of silver light floated to make room for the beast and its burden. The horse nickered at Hannah's hand, as they were clearly acquainted, and Hannah smoothed her other hand down the long bridge of its face while speaking in a hushed voice to the horse's ear. "Deliver this man to the hospital, dearest Valerie, to heal him of these burns."

Fenrir produced an apple and held it to the horse. The beast sniffed him and stepped back in hesitation until the werewolf knelt on one knee and spoke with reverence, "A gift, honoring the goddess Eir, who rescued me from death." Only then did the winged horse accept the fruit offered in his hoary hand. Satisfied, Fenrir stood and turned to the Pucey boy. He lifted the wheezing body and bit the young man gently on the wrist.

"Stop!" Hannah cried out. "Get your teeth off him!"

The startled horse brayed loudly and jolted forward, pushing Antonin further back behind the silver barricade.

Fenrir laid Adrian's body in the bed of the chariot as he explained, "When I was bitten, the physicians at Mount Lyfia Hospital healed me. My saliva has the power to heal and the power to kill. It won't prevent the women from healing him, but the boy must choose his own fate."

Hannah eyed him with suspicion, trying to decipher how the werewolf could speak in such a soothing voice. Her preconceptions of him as overbearing and malicious, the incarnation of evil, were now shattered and useless.

She stroked the frosty-snow mane of the horse. "Go now, Valerie, with speed," she urged the horse, and she then kissed the beast's nose. Stirring up a whirlwind as it turned, the horse flew up the stairwell. Then there was a quiet crack of the chariot's Disapparation.

Fenrir looked at Antonin, who was now pressed against the cellar wall by the silver field of energy. "You going to let him go or just make him suffer there all night?" he asked with a light-hearted nod toward the wall.

"Oh!" Hannah gave a sheepish smile and flicked her wand in a circle to release the barrier.

Disgruntled, Antonin crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Fenrir and the girl.

Hannah quickly turned her face away from his look of consternation, but she paled when her eyes fell upon the dead body of Cassius Warrington. "I should have saved him too," she groaned to herself.

"He was dead 'ere he hit the ground, little one," Fenrir soothed.

**Notes:**

"_Offensio _**рассечь**!" is a spell of Dolohov's own making, combining Latin and Russian. The Cyrillic **рассечь** can be written as _rassech_. The general meaning of the spell is "thrust and cut." _Saava _ provided the Russian word in the spell for me. _Thanks for the support, Love!_

Dolohov will call Hannah his _bitch_ by using _suka _and _suchka _interchangeably, as they are two forms of the same word in Russian.

I have a personal philosophy that most Snatchers are Fenrir's werewolves. It is not based on canon, but it suits my purposes for this story and does not directly contradict canon, as far as I know.


	11. Chapter 11

**February 4, 2013**

_Hello Dear Readers,_

_In this story, this one day is stretching on endlessly. When will it end? It's driving me crazy. That, and the fact that all I think about is the future part of the story where they shag like bunnies and have romance. So, I made some adjustments in my plan and wrote in a little bit of flirty stuff. I'm trying to pace their relationship, but please bear with my muse's desire to have them be lovebirds._

_I could have asked for a Beta read of this, but I really just want to throw this online now and worry about making proper grammar changes later. I hope you'll forgive my impatience. My last chapter was very stilted. I'm sorry to say that the words just aren't flowing through my fingers with this fic. Your readership is all the more appreciated while I'm struggling to make this story appear on screen._

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><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

Marcus Flint paced outside the run-down pub. He ran a hand through the well-combed part in his hair, leaving short stray brown tufts sticking up at odd angles.

The slash in his arm had been healed by Greyback. It had been an entirely disconcerting experience for Marcus to feel the werewolf slathering his tongue over the bleeding gash, but the results had been extraordinarily effective. The pain had dissipated as his skin knit itself together.

Marcus had been admiring the healed skin, twisting his arm this way and that way in the dim light of the pub when Greyback had growled in a low, menacing voice, "Bit of troll blood in you. Don't get yourself in a panic about Blood Purity, boy—I wouldn't give a shit if your grandmother had fucked a Centaur. After all, come full moon, you're one of us." The Snatchers standing around had laughed, and Scabior had even slapped him on his back as Greyback shoved Marcus' bloodied wand into his hand.

Alone in the darkness of the alley, Marcus took deep breaths to keep his head clear. If the Dark Lord were to find his heritage suspect, he'd be a cold corpse. But becoming a werewolf would be worse by far than rumors that he _might_ have troll blood. It had been a joke to intimidate the other Quidditch teams: "Watch your back, Snuffington! Flint here is half troll," or "Shit your pants yet Wood? Go troll on him, Flint." The jokes had ended abruptly on the day Snape had overheard and then had put the entire Slytherin team in detention for bringing shame on their House's honor.

There was one option that might get the attention off himself and onto Dolohov, the arsehole who'd just killed Warrington. Marcus raised his wand and nervously incanted, "_Morsmordre_." A fetid, thick vapor rose from his wand and took shape of a deformed-looking skull, the head seeming to be bashed in at the crown. The cloud illuminated the air over the Hog's Head Inn and a sickly snake dribbled out of the gaping jaw bones.

His own Dark Mark immediately became inflamed with a terrible heat, as if a glowing branding iron was burning inside his flesh. He clutched at his left wrist and scratched the tender, blistering skin of his forearm where the snake in the tattoo writhed around the black skull. It took a few moments of paralyzing pain for him to perceive that he had just received his first summons as a member of the Dark Lord's inner circle of Death Eaters.

Tying his best to ignore the sharp pang of dread that ripped through his intestines as he prepared to meet his master, he planted his feet firmly in the dusty earth of the travel-trodden alley and visualized the snarling wrought iron gates in front of Malfoy Manor. With a twist of his torso, the air snapped where his body vacated, his Disapparition complete.

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><p>The Abbot girl hugged her arms across her chest, clawing into her robe with her well-manicured fingernails. Her rush of adrenalin had left her depleted, and she shivered in the dank cellar.<p>

Antonin approached her silently, but she raised her nose in the air and took a light sniff. As his arms embraced the trembling waif, she turned her head to rest on his unkempt, dirt-smeared robe. He held her, pressing her quivering body against his own until she melted into him. He nestled his nose into her tousled blonde hair and breathed her in. Behind the tang of singed hair, there lingered a sensual, forest-like scent of patchouli, of her shampoo. So this was the smell of the girl, the scent of his future wife. His lovely _suchka_.

Hannah pushed her hands against his chest and leaned away. "No, no, you killed a man. I can't … I can't…" she said in a broken voice as she turned away from his loosened arms. "Not a killer like you without a conscience." She swallowed, but there were no tears left to hold back—only exhaustion and emptiness. "Not anybody. No auntie and uncle, no cousins, no father, no … mother. Oh, why did this horrible day happen to me?" She stumbled away from him.

Antonin caught her arm and steadied her. "Go back up to the bar. No, don't look at the body. Look away. Look up stairs. That's it." He pressed lightly on her back to guide her up the steps. "Easy now," he spoke quietly when she reached the open doorway.

Snatchers were milling around the empty tables of the pub. A card game was abandoned. Half-empty bottles of whiskey and scotch were left unattended. Shot glasses were knocked over. Antonin guided the girl to a chair. She slid into it, slouching glumly, with a look of bewilderment at her surroundings.

The door to the inn burst open, and Aberforth stomped in, his ferocity making him appear years younger than the hundred something of his true age. "Then _find_ a way to get rid of that Dark Mark," he grumbled. "And take care of the body. Ah, there's the Abbott girl. Alright, then, I've got my proof she's alive."

Greyback entered through the doorway, following Aberforth. It was barely wide enough for his hulking shoulders. "About that," Greyback growled, "I'll be watching her. If you don't warn the blokes who come around to leave her alone, I won't hesitate to rip their throats out."

Aberforth stopped walking, standing dead still. He turned to face the werewolf. "What's this? You haven't taken a fancy to her, have you? I thought you were still interested in men. Boys."

Fenrir boomed in laughter and caught the look of possessive anger shot at him by Dolohov. "My preferences haven't changed, old man. But she's kin to me. And I protect my own."

Aberforth eyed the werewolf and then glanced over the girl. "She's been turned by someone already?" he asked.

"No. And she won't be. Not unless she asks … not unless she asks me." Fenrir gave a menacing look at Aberforth. "Don't send her down to the cellar again, unless you want more dead bodies piling up in here."

At this Fenrir turned to one of the loitering Snatchers. "Floyd, take the body to the Ministry. If they bother to ask, he died in a fair Wizard's duel. Tell them I saw it, and so did Scabior."

The tall man nodded and signaled a few other men to go with him down to the cellar.

Aberforth grunted. "The girl dueled?"

"I did," Antonin claimed.

"A fair duel?" Aberforth scoffed. "He can't be but a few years out of Hogwarts. He was no match for you."

"Aye, that's what I tol' the boy," Scabior commented from where he stood near the door. "He wouldn't have none of it."

Aberforth scratched his chin through his coarse, gray beard. "The boys must've gone below after I sent Abbott to fetch Fire Whiskey."

Antonin stood up. "You sent her down to do something that a flick of your wand could have achieved?" he clarified in menacing tones.

Hannah looked up and protested, "No, you can't use magic with Fire Whiskey. It'll explode."

Antonin looked from the girl's innocent face to the look of chagrin on the old barkeep's. "You told her that?" he snarled, drawing his wand on the old man. "You told me to stay out of your business so that you could lie to her? So that she wouldn't use magic?"

Aberforth calmly drew his wand and stood his ground, unperturbed by the angry shouting.

"They would have raped her, you bloody son of a whore."

That did it. Aberforth hexed Antonin and left the man convulsing on the floor.

"Stop!" Hannah screamed, leaping from her chair. "Stop fighting! Do something! Make him stop writhing on the floor. Please!" she finally begged, falling to her knees, trying to hold down Antonin's body, but getting her face hit by his flailing arms.

As Fenrir grabbed the girl by her school robes and pulled her away from the repeated blows, Aberforth muttered the counter-curse. Antonin jumped up as soon as his body stopped convulsing. He shot a silver curse, barely missing the old barkeep. He was ready to kill the man quickly and took aim, but stopped just shy of casting.

The Abbott girl had clambered out of Fenrir's grasp, leaving her torn robe in his claws. She stood in front of the old man, squaring off with Antonin.

"Get out of the way, foolish girl!" Aberforth said, pushing her away.

She was fast enough to catch her balance and stand in front of him again. "Stop fighting!" she told Antonin sternly. "Stop fighting or kill me first."

Antonin lowered his wand. "Never. I will never hurt you, my _suka_."

Aberforth cleared his throat. "Such a stupid girl. You can have her. I can't keep an idiot like her alive when she refuses to use her brain."

Fenrir growled, "Watch your tongue, Ab."

The barman stowed his wand in his robe. "I cleared out the room at the left of the stairs, the one just underneath my own flat. Make sure she gets there tonight, and the wards I set up to protect her will take care of the rest."

"I just want to eat dinner and go to sleep. Maybe this whole nightmare will be over when I wake up," Hannah sighed without hope.

Aberforth grumbled, "You work for food. What work have you done?"

Fenrir pointed to Scabior. "Bring her something from the forest." The cocky Snatcher nodded to some men and they slipped out of the inn.

At the same time, Floyd and his group of Snatchers ascended from the cellar, their boots clunking gracelessly on the wooden steps. The body of Warrington, not yet in rigor mortis, was wrapped head to toe in black cloth, slung over the shoulder of the tall man. They flooed the corpse to the Ministry using the Hog's Head's fireplace.

Fenrir whistled the remaining men over to the table where Antonin had led Hannah to sit down once again. "Rippoff," Greyback called.

The wizened male elf appeared before him.

"Bring Wizard Ice for us."

Without a nod or acknowledgement, the elf was gone, and in an instant a cauldron appeared on the table. A heavy fog of smoke trickled over the edges. The Snatchers leaned in and breathed in the vapor.

"Don't get drunk on it," Greyback warned them. They sat back, chastised, clearly wanting to breathe in more.

"What is it?" Hannah asked, intrigued, momentarily forgetting her troubles.

Dolohov answered her. "It's hard alcohol charmed to rise into the air of a room. Everyone gets a little bit to drink, and no one gets too much to drink unless they deliberately inhale the gasses."

"So they like the smell of it?" she asked, pointing at the men around the table who so clearly yearned for more.

"Try it," Dolohov suggested. His hand hovered near her arm as she stood. He watched with a smirk as she took a great gulp of the white cloud oozing from the cauldron.

Hannah smiled at the taste and the instant relaxation that came over her body. "Oooh, that's nice." She leaned in for another gulp of the vapor. "It's a bit minty going down, isn't it?"

Antonin gently urged her to sit back down, but she was enchanted by the alcohol and leaned toward the gasses, straining her neck for more.

Fenrir swung his heavy black boots up on the table and watched Antonin and the girl. "How did you find out about the dogs keeping the boar at bay, Abbott?"

"Oh, that?" Hannah asked, staring at the tendrils of white smoke now spilling on the table and amassing into clouds that drifted toward her. "My father used to say it."

"Your father?" Antonin repeated in surprise. "Who is your father?"

"I dunno. I was Obliviated, remember?"

Fenrir spoke quietly to Dolohov, "He disappeared thirteen years ago. He's an Unspeakable. Some say he went missing in action, doing secret Ministry business. Others say he defected from the Ministry. You know how it is. Defect from the Ministry, defect from the boar; it's all the same."

Hannah sighed and sat back, away from the gasses. "I did know about him leaving us. I guess they didn't Obliviate everything. Just names, faces, memories."

"When did you go to Mount Lyfia for healer training?" Fenrir asked.

"I don't know when," she groaned.

Dolohov sat up. "How could your family do this to you? Abandon you?" He was angry and his nostrils flared.

"You're asking me? I don't even remember what my family is like anymore. See, there's this little problem that I have. I can't remember!"

One of the Snatchers at the table stopped shuffling the deck of cards to comment: "It's a war, and she's a half-blood. Her mum's already … been dealt with… Well, I s'pose her family wants to prove that they are true purebloods, what with the Mudblood registration and all."

"Unspeakable Abbott's a pureblood," Fenrir commented, "But if he defected, if he's secretly in alliance against Hogwarts and the Ministry, then there's a reason that her family cut off ties with a traitor's daughter."

Hannah scoffed. "Why would my dad be against Hogwarts?"

Dolohov explained, "Keeping the boar at bay: it's a code."

"A code? No, it's just something Daddy used to say."

With patience Dolohov said in a quiet voice, "Think about the name of this town and the name of your school—even the name of this dump. What do they have in common?"

"Hogsmeade? Hogwarts. The _Hog's _Head. No way. It's just a coincidence. That's ridiculous. The little dog keeping a boar at bay just means to not underestimate someone based on their size or lack of experience."

Fenrir grinned. "Compared to Hogwarts, everybody else in the wizarding world is small. Think about it."

Hannah shrugged. "Okay, so maybe he heard it when he worked at the Ministry. It doesn't mean anything."

Fenrir chuckled. "Don't take your father for a fool. As an Unspeakable, he had to have known about the uprisings against Hogwarts. He taught you the phrase before he disappeared. That means he wanted you to know about it. Maybe to protect you in case the uprising ever became strong enough. Mark my words. He either joined the dogs or he was killed by one of us."

Hannah looked at him, aghast. "He's a werewolf? That's why he disappeared?"

"It's not just werewolves. You had Lupin teaching you up at the school. I can see in his eyes that he'd never attack Hogwarts, even if he pretends to be one of us. Look at Dolohov here. He's not a werewolf, never will be a werewolf, but he's one of us. Your father gave you the pass code to keep you safe. He knew you'd be a student at Hogwarts. What better way to protect you than by making you appear to be a traitor from within? Your father must be a brilliant man."

"No one in my family would ever betray Hogwarts!" Hannah protested in anger. She stood up and tossed her hair back. "I'm going to my private quarters." Try as she might, she could not walk a straight line and certainly couldn't navigate the stairs. Instead, she stumbled right into Antonin's waiting arms. "You again," she said with a drunken smirk, looking up into his face. She made a horrible attempt to confide in a whisper, "I'm beginning to like you, Mr. Dovelove." She ended up nearly shouting the words.

The Snatchers grinned at each other and took wistful looks at the Death Eater with the drunken girl pressing her body into his.


End file.
